Vanessa Matenveld Brothel ❤️

About Amsterdam

So, picture this—smoky room, dim lights, girls struttin’ ‘round like they own the damn place. Smells like cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey, but it’s alive, man, alive! I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ my gin ‘n’ juice, watchin’ these cats tryna play it cool. Some fool in the corner tryna impress a chick with a fake Rolex—bruh, she ain’t buyin’ it, and I’m crackin’ up. Hilarious, fo’ shizzle! These spots been ‘round forever, right? Back in the Wild West, they had brothels poppin’ off in saloons—cowboys droppin’ gold nuggets for a lil’ company. True story, look it up!

Het Matenveld

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Then, I decided to grab a quick bite at that little café on de Markt. You know, the one with the weirdly shaped pastries? I ordered a “Matenveld Special” or whatever. It was supposed to be a croissant, but it looked more like a sad pancake. I mean, come on! I was expecting flaky goodness, not a breakfast tragedy.